


i'm not much for dancing (but for you i did)

by virtuemoir29



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Pain, they're really messy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:07:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23337382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtuemoir29/pseuds/virtuemoir29
Summary: Though it has been years since their retirement, Tessa hasn't stopped reaching for that phantom hand. It's like reflex. She looks down while taking a break at the boards, and the marks in the ice are all too familiar - there's where they started choreographing Moulin Rouge, that's where Latch had finally come together, there's the spot that she'd almost fallen out of a lift, and he'd caught her, just like always.
Relationships: Scott Moir & Tessa Virtue, Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	i'm not much for dancing (but for you i did)

**Author's Note:**

> so, I rewatched fix you, and it made me sad, so I decided to write this. as therapy? maybe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Scott," she whispers, brokenly, a deep, visceral feeling of dread pooling low in her stomach. Tessa had been drinking that night - she wasn't drunk, the wine had just taken the edge off, and she felt young, and sad, and trapped. That single word, his name, spoken in passion, in excitement, in desire, in regret - had given him the answer he was looking for, and his breaths, shallow and shaky, echo over the line like a phantom's. 

It's been years since she's seen him, and she still feels like she's missing a limb. 

They'd done the whole _we'll stay in touch_ thing before their retirement, but it wasn't a surprise to her that it hadn't worked. She wasn't, and still isn't, always the best at expressing her feelings outwardly, especially to the man she loves. 

_Loved._

She's _definitely_ not in love with him anymore. Not after she learned of his engagement from an article on some website. Not after he'd sprung the idea of retirement on her just weeks before the Rock The Rink Tour, catching her completely off-guard. Not after he'd called her one normal February day of the next year, telling her that his engagement was off because he had "never stopped loving her." 

She remembers that phone call. Those words had sent a shockwave through her. The words she had wanted so badly to hear - "I still love you." A single tear ran down her face, reminiscent of so many similar conversations, so many situations that had always resulted in the same outcome. 

_**Flashback** _

The distinct ringing of her phone startles Tessa from her nightly reading session. It's late, probably somewhere around midnight, and, momentarily, she wonders who in the world would be calling her at this time of night. Her eyes glance over at the screen of her phone. 

_Scott Moir._

It's been months since she's heard his voice, and it really shouldn't make her this nervous to talk to him, but her hands shake as she answers anyway. 

"Hey," she murmurs, almost inaudibly, and her breaths come out uneven and ragged. She's certain he picks up on it, though, because he's practically her other half. 

At least he used to be. 

"Hey, kiddo," he answers, a tinge of downturn to his voice, and she wonders if he's in an empty house, late at night, dreaming of maybes, of hypotheticals. Tessa pictures him in sweatpants slung low across his hips, on his couch with darkness filtering in like ghosts. "How have you been?"

His question sparks a sense of rage in her. How _dare_ he. 

"You have no right to ask that question, Scott. Not after you cast me aside after twenty two years. You don't get to ask me how I'm fucking doing," she hisses, and his sharp intake of breath makes her rethink it, for a moment. They never fight, never have, not even during those fateful Sochi days when all she wanted to do was shake him and scream at him because he got it all so _wrong._ These days, though, the steeliness dripping from his usually bright, enthusiastic tone is getting to her, and she grimaces. She swore she wouldn't let him become a stranger, yet that's exactly what's happened. 

"You're right, T. Of course you're right. I'm an asshole." Scott's apology forces her to take a deep breath in to calm herself. They're civilized people. She can contain herself enough to have a conversation with him. His voice startles her when it comes over the phone again.

"But I had to tell you - the engagement's off. It happened yesterday. I couldn't keep pretending." His voice is quiet now, and it washes over her just like it always has - spoken low in the shell of her ear, and Tessa shivers at the familiarity. 

"I'm sorry, Scott. That's terrible news," she responds, and it's genuine. No matter what, she wants him to be happy. 

"It's not your fault, Tess. It wasn't fair to her to keep lying." Tessa digs her fingernails into her palms at his words, and waits. He has something else to say. The years have gotten to her, though, and his open book mentality has closed off now, and he's more like a book that's taking her chapters, instead of mere pages, to really get into. 

"It's not fair to her when I'm still in love with someone else," he whispers, voice low and husky. She closes her eyes. A familiar feeling settles low in her belly, and she fists her hands into balls at her sides. They've done this before - it's all a dance, choreographed to an all-too-familiar soundtrack. 

"What are you saying?" she breathes, and his breaths are irregular, just like hers, and she doesn't know how much longer she can keep doing this, over and over again. 

"I'm saying I want to be with you, Tessa. It's always been you. You have to know that." His statement is conflicting - she wants to give in to him so badly that it almost kills her. But she can't. He's broken her so many times before, and she's not sure if she can put herself back together again. 

"Scott," she whispers, brokenly, a deep, visceral feeling of dread pooling low in her stomach. Tessa had been drinking that night - she wasn't drunk, the wine had just taken the edge off, and she felt young, and sad, and _trapped._ That single word, his name, spoken in passion, in excitement, in desire, in regret - had given him the answer he was looking for, and his breaths, shallow and shaky, echo over the line like a phantom's. 

"Okay, Tessa. Forget I called," he replies, and she swallows around the growing lump in her throat. The use of her full name, _especially_ now, awakens a deep, lingering feeling that he'd always just put up with her, never truly wanting to skate with that little seven year old girl that used to follow him around the rink while he chased the older girls. 

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, but he's gone, and she's hardly sure he'd even been there in the first place. 

_How did we get here,_ she muses. _There was a time I knew every thought that went through your mind, and I could read you like a book_. 

The dial tone is faint in the background, and she hangs up. 

Tessa slides off her couch, clenching her fists. This time, she doesn't fight the tears that collect in her eyes, and she sobs, burying her face in her knees. 

**_Present Day_ **

Montreal has always felt like home to Tessa, since the first time she arrived. The extensive array of art museums, the incredible restaurants, the beautiful scenery - all of it gets a spring in her step just a little more than usual, and today is no exception. An older couple is walking hand in hand, directly at her, and the woman catches her eye and smiles. Tessa waves, grinning in response. The thing she loves about Montreal the most, out of anything, is the people, though the chocolate is pretty wonderful too. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Tessa spots a teenage boy and girl, both no older then 17, _Patinage Quebec_ jackets slung over their shoulders, and she shivers. She remembers when she and Scott first competed here, both utterly mortified by their lack of knowledge in the French department due to a mishap in a local bakery where Scott's French hadn't been _quite_ correct. She laughs softly over the memory, shaking her head. He still makes her laugh, even after all these years, even only in flashbacks. Scott had dragged her out, hand in hand, and they'd collapsed on a nearby bench, breathless from their laughter. He'd looked over at her then, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, saying, "I'm so glad we're here, Tess," and she had reciprocated it with a squeeze of her hand.

Montreal reminds her of Paris, too, an all-time favourite city of hers. The memory of Scott sparks a realization in her that isn't necessarily what she needs right now. Scott will always be the first boy that took her to Paris, and it softens her and kills her at the same time because it all happened so _fast._ But nostalgia won't get her anywhere, and she shakes her head in an attempt to move on with her day. 

She starts walking again, the memory having stopped her in her tracks, her skate bag slung over her shoulder. Since she's here she might as well skate, and catch up with Marie and Patrice while she's at it. They've always been like a second family to her. 

Tessa reaches the rink and steps inside, the familiar smells washing over her, and one word echoes in her mind - _home._ There's no one on the ice right now, and she takes the opportunity to go down the hall to Marie's office. She grins when the woman's lilting French greets her, and Tessa turns her head around the door entrance. 

"Marie?" Tessa really, really hopes they can catch up right now. It's been far too long. 

"Salut, mon chéri!" Marie beams, and wraps Tessa in her arms. "How are you?"

"I'm wonderful! It's been good to be back in Montreal," Tessa replies, the smile still etched across her face. 

"Let's catch up later, darling. Go enjoy the ice, I know you've been dying to skate again," Marie says, fondly, and it warms Tessa's heart. 

"Thank you, Marie. It means the world," Tessa replies, and practically runs to the rink. She pulls her skates out of her bag, tying the laces tightly, and it's like it hasn't been a couple of months since she last skated. Tessa takes step onto the ice, then another, carving deep edges into the white surface. Her legs warm up quickly, and she does a couple of twizzles, then footwork, finding her hand reaching for another one that isn't beside her. Though it has been years since their retirement, Tessa hasn't stopped reaching for that phantom hand. It's like reflex. She looks down while taking a break at the boards, and the marks in the ice are all too familiar - there's where they started choreographing Moulin Rouge, that's where Latch had finally come together, there's the spot that she'd almost fallen out of a lift, and he'd caught her, just like always. The memories threaten to overtake her, and she skates away again, pushing into a layback spin in the centre of the ice when she hears a familiar whistle echo through the arena, and her blood freezes. 

"Tess?" She'd know that voice anywhere. But it can't be him, can it? Marie had told her he'd moved here after the failed engagement, but she hadn't believed it. 

"Scott?" She turns, and sure enough, it _is_ him, his dark hair falling in curls over his eyes, hazel eyes wide with surprise, and _god,_ he looks just as amazing as she'd expect him to. She steps off the ice, immediately taking her skates off, and he watches, waiting, while she puts them back in her bag. 

"Hey, kiddo," he whispers, and _oh,_ she's right back where they were, all those years ago. "Feel like catching up? We can go to my place, I'll make you dinner. Wouldn't want you to starve, I know how useless you are in the kitchen, Virtch," he jokes, and she really shouldn't, but it's hard to say no to him right now. 

"Yeah, that sounds great, Scott," she breathes, falling into step beside him, and before she knows it, they're at his place, and it feels so _right._

_"_ It looks great, Scott. You did a really nice job with it," she says, and it's true - his house looks amazing. 

"Thanks, T. Wine?" Scott offers, and before she even nods, he's pouring a glass and setting it in front of her. "Go sit on the couch, make yourself at home."

She makes her way over to his couch, and it's just like she imagined, those few months ago, and it kills her. It feels like they haven't been apart. Scott's always been so natural connecting with people. It's one of the things she admires most about him. And looking over at him, now, making her dinner, it hits her just how much she's missed him, and a lone tear makes its way down her face. 

"Tess? You okay over there? You've been a little quiet," Scott questions, and it's not until he looks over at her, catches her eye, that she really breaks. A choked sob claws its way out of her throat, and he's by her side in seconds, and he's pulling her up off the couch and _oh god, she's missed him._

"Come here, Tess. Shhh, it's okay, I've got you," he murmurs into her hair, and she feels so safe in his arms and he hasn't held her in over a year and she feels the tears running down his face too. 

"I just - I don't -" she keeps trying to get the words out but it's so damn hard. 

"Breathe, T. Talk to me. It's just us," he reassures her, and she takes a deep breath before speaking again. 

"I miss you, Scott, and I can't keep doing this," she whispers, and he pulls away, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and she doesn't even care because he feels so safe right now. 

"I don't want to live my life without you in it anymore," she breathes, and they're forehead to forehead. Scott has always been her home base, since she was seven years old. 

And then he utters a sentence that stops her cold. 

"Then come back home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - comments make my day :)


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